


Storms

by 77skie77



Series: Show Me Your Love [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's scared of thunderstorms, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Pre-Relationship, Scared Crowley (Good Omens), Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 20:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20377294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/77skie77/pseuds/77skie77
Summary: In which Crowley is scared of thunderstorms and Aziraphale tries to help.Teaser:“Do you think my Bentley’s sssssssafe out there?” Crowley asks.“I would assume so; it’s been through these kinds of storms before.” Aziraphale replies. “Is that what has been upsetting you?”“I just don’t like stormssss and….and I keep wondering if the things brought back during the Not-Armageddon are going to dissssappear.” Crowley says.“What other things are you worried about?”





	Storms

**Author's Note:**

> I headcanon Aziraphale and Crowley to both be asexual. Also, I headcanon that Aziraphale is nonbinary and Crowley is genderfluid, but they’re both using he/him pronouns in this story like they do in the book and tv show.

Aziraphale can finally describe his life with a literature cliché because right now, it is in fact, a dark and stormy night. He’s curled up on his couch reading Shakespeare’s “The Winter’s Tale” and drinking cocoa. He glances out the window to see a flash of lightning. Thunder booms and it feels like the bookshop shakes a bit with the sound. Aziraphale’s glad he’s inside tonight.

Crowley wanders downstairs a few moments later.

“Did you sleep well, my dear?” Aziraphale asks. He’d half-expected Crowley to sleep for at least a few days after everything that had happened this week: they averted the Armageddon, they switched bodies to trick their superiors, and now they finally have the opportunity to live freely together. Crowley stuck around Aziraphale’s bookshop for the first day after their swap, but then ventured upstairs for a nap yesterday. So far, their superiors haven’t done anything more than ask for continued reports. They never mentioned anything about consorting with the other side or the Armageddon. Aziraphale has decided to consider that a win until proven otherwise.

Crowley doesn’t reply. He slouches against the wall closest to the stairs. His clothes are disheveled, as is his hair, his sunglasses are on, and his shoes are not.

“Is everything okay?” Aziraphale asks. “You don’t usually wear your sunglasses when we’re alone.”

Instead of replying, Crowley crosses his arms over his chest and stares out the window.

Aziraphale marks his page with a bookmark that bears the quote, “Exit pursued by bear” and closes his book, placing it gently on the coffee-table in front of him. He smiles at Crowley and asks, “Would you like some cocoa?” Aziraphale picks his own mug up, stands, and starts walking in the direction of the kitchen. “I’m about to make some for myself; would you like some cocoa too? Or, anything else while I’m in the kitchen? You haven’t eaten in a while. Are you hungry? Although, I suppose, neither of us really _needs_ food technically, but we’re both _used_ to eating by now and you do so daily, I assume, so would you like something to eat?”

Aziraphale knows he’s rambling, but he’s mostly just trying to get _some_ sort of response from Crowley who won’t even look at him.

Crowley still doesn’t reply.

Aziraphale feels like something is squeezing his heart. He can tell there’s something wrong with Crowley, but how can he help him if he won’t tell him what’s bothering him?

Aziraphale sighs and goes to the kitchen where he makes himself and Crowley some cocoa. Then he returns to the couch, armed with two mugs of cocoa, he places both mugs on the coffee-table, and smiles at Crowley, saying, “Would you care to join me?”

There’s a loud crack of lightning, followed by a louder boom of thunder, followed by a small noise from Crowley’s direction. Aziraphale watches as Crowley puts a hand over his mouth as his face turns quite red.

“Crowley? Please talk to me. Are you all right?” Aziraphale asks.

“Of course, I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be?” Crowley snaps. His voice sounds…odd.

“Well, that’s why I’m asking, my dear. I don’t know what’s wrong.” Aziraphale says.

Before Crowley can reply, there’s another—louder—boom of thunder and Crowley winces.

Aziraphale feels stupid for not realizing this earlier and asks, “Crowley, are you afraid of storms?”

“I’m a demon. Why would I be afraid of sssssstormss?” Crowley hugs himself. He’s shaking now and it’s hard for Aziraphale to tell if Crowley’s shaking from fear or cold.

Aziraphale looks away from Crowley, not sure what to do, but then he remembers the cocoa. “I have your cocoa right here, Crowley. Will you come join me?”

Aziraphale looks up to see Crowley look from the couch to the window, then to the couch, then to the window again. The wind picks up as it begins to rain harder. The lights start to flicker, and Crowley begins to shuffle towards the couch. There’s one more big boom of thunder—the worst one yet—and Crowley trips. He’s close enough to the couch that Aziraphale is able to jump up and catch Crowley before Crowley hits the ground. Upon contact, Crowley goes stiff. Aziraphale helps Crowley stand and then releases him.

“Sorry,” Aziraphale says, “I just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Crowley nods and sits on the couch. He pulls his knees up to his chest; he’s still shaking.

Aziraphale isn’t quite sure how to help Crowley. He picks up Crowley’s mug of cocoa and offers it to him.

Crowley shakes his head at it and then goes back to staring out the window.

“It might help you warm up.” Aziraphale says.

“’m not cold,” Crowley mumbles.

Aziraphale’s heart drops as he realizes his guess that Crowley’s shaking is from fear is probably correct.

Aziraphale sits beside Crowley on the couch, being careful not to get too close. Neither says anything for a few moments. They just watch the storm.

“Do you think my Bentley’s sssssssafe out there?” Crowley asks.

“I would assume so; it’s been through these kinds of storms before.” Aziraphale replies. “Is that what has been upsetting you?”

“I just don’t like stormssss and….and I keep wondering if the things brought back during the Not-Armageddon are going to dissssappear.” Crowley says.

“What other things are you worried about?”

“Well, I quite like your bookshop ssssstanding.” Crowley glances at Aziraphale.

“I do too,” Aziraphale grins at Crowley, hoping that Crowley will smile back.

Instead, Crowley’s face scrunches up in pain and he quickly looks away from Aziraphale. “And—and I—and I don’t want to losssse my bessst friend again.” Crowley’s voice shakes.

Aziraphale feels a twinge of jealousy towards this mysterious best friend of Crowley’s. He tries not to, but it’s hard. Then it occurs to Aziraphale how odd it is that Crowley has spent nearly all his time with Aziraphale instead of whoever his best friend is. Aziraphale speaks in the gentlest voice he can muster as he says, “Dear, why have you spent so much time with me when you could spend it with your best friend? Are you too scared they’ll disappear again that you don’t want to be with them? Because, I don’t think you have anything to worry about; everything that was brought back seems to be back for good.”

Crowley stares straight ahead as he sniffles and says, “You’re—you’re my—my bessssst friend, angel.”

“Oh.” Now Aziraphale feels quite foolish. Then he remembers Crowley in the pub. He was drunk and had clearly been crying. It seemed difficult for him to even say that he had lost his best friend. Now, it turns out that Crowley had meant Aziraphale.

“It had been raining when I got to the bookshop and it wassss,” Crowley’s voice falters. “It wasss burning, and you weren’t,” Crowley sniffles, “and you weren’t there. I couldn’t find you. Ssssix thoussssand yearssss—I’d alwayssss been able to find you—to ssssssave you, but then a few dayssss ago,” Crowley takes a shaky breath, “I jusssst,” Thunder booms above them and Crowley whimpers softly, “I couldn’t,” Crowley’s voice cuts off and he shakes his head. “I’m—I’m ssssor,” Crowley lets out a ragged sob and covers his mouth with one hand. His shoulders shake.

“Oh Crowley, that wasn’t your fault.” Aziraphale says. He puts a hand on Crowley’s shoulder, but Crowley flinches. “Sorry dear,” Aziraphale removes his hand from Crowley’s shoulder.

“But I alwaysss—I alwaysssss helped you before. Ssssix _thousssssand _yearsss and I alwaysss got there in time, but not thisss time.” Crowley’s voice becomes progressively louder. “No, thisssss time—thissss time I wasssss too late and you were—you were jusssst _gone_,” Crowley sniffles, “I’ve alwayssss—alwayssss been able to find you, but not that time. I’m ssssssory!” Crowley buries his face in his arms, but whispers, “Ow” and picks his head up out of his arms. He takes his sunglasses off and flings them across the room. They hit the wall and shatter. Tears stream down Crowley’s cheeks and he begins to cry in earnest with his arms wrapped around his knees and his face buried in his arms.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asks. “Is it okay if I hug you?”

Crowley looks at Aziraphale. Aziraphale opens his arms out for Crowley. Aziraphale is surprised when Crowley launches himself at Aziraphale. It’s a tense hug for a few moments; Crowley seems to be holding his breath while having an iron-grip on Aziraphale, all the while, leaning away from Aziraphale as if he needs to be able to push Aziraphale away from him as soon as possible. Aziraphale worries the hug is making Crowley _more_ upset than he was already and almost pulls away, but then Crowley relaxes his grip a bit. Aziraphale carefully wraps his arms around Crowley. Crowley leans into Aziraphale and buries his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale gently runs his fingers through Crowley’s hair.

“It’s okay, my dear. I’m here. I won’t leave you again.” Aziraphale promises.

Crowley tries to say something, but he’s crying too hard for the words to come together properly and lets out a sobbing hiss in frustration.

“It’s okay, you can tell me in a bit. But for now, just let your feelings out. It’s okay to cry; this is a safe place. I’ve got you, Crowley. It’s going to be okay.” Aziraphale says.

That seems to make Crowley cry harder.

Each of Crowley’s sobs feels like a knife to the heart for Aziraphale. He holds Crowley closer. “It’s all right my dear.” Aziraphale tells Crowley. “It’s all right.”

Aziraphale isn’t sure how long he sits there, holding Crowley in his arms. It feels like a long time, but that might just be the effect of experiencing something painful. Aziraphale has known Crowley for six thousand years, and there have been very few times has he seen Crowley break down like this.

When Crowley calms down a bit, he says, “I don’t wanna lossssse you again.” He sniffles. “It would be unbearable, and I’m sssso ssssssscared it’ssss gonna—it’sssss gonna happen again,” Crowley’s voice breaks and he hugs Aziraphale a little tighter.

“You won’t lose me again. I’m right here. I’m not going to leave you.”

“How do you know?”

“I think that if our superiors planned on killing us, they would’ve done it already.”

Crowley lets go of Aziraphale and stares at him. Then he looks away. “Makessss sssssenssssse,” Crowley mumbles.

Aziraphale tries to make a joke and smiles saying, “_I_ thought so,”

Crowley smiles for a second and rubs his eyes with his hands.

Aziraphale miracles Crowley’s cocoa to perfect temperature and offers it to Crowley. “Cocoa?”

Crowley shakes his head and yawns.

“Are you tired? Do you need to sleep again?” Aziraphale asks.

“Don’t wanna go upsssstairssss again.” Crowley mumbles.

Aziraphale remembers something that helps Crowley sleep when he gets sick once every sixty years or so. “That’s quite all right. Care to hear Shakespeare’s “The Winter’s Tale”?” Aziraphale gestures to the play he was reading.

“I like that one,” Crowley leans heavily against the back of the couch.

Aziraphale picks the book up and starts reading from the beginning. A few minutes later, Crowley slides over and leans against Aziraphale, resting his head on his shoulder. Aziraphale feels warm inside having Crowley so close and tries not to move too much. Eventually, Crowley’s breathing evens out and he falls asleep. Aziraphale miracles his warmest blanket onto Crowley and whispers something he has known since that day in the church when Crowley saved his books, “I love you, Crowley.”

“Love you too, angel.” Crowley mumbles, snuggling a little closer to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale freezes; he truly thought Crowley was asleep, but then his heart swells with joy from the years and years of hoping, knowing it could never work out. It might now. They’ll just have to wait and see.

Aziraphale whispers, “Good night, my dear.”

“G’night,” Crowley mumbles.


End file.
